


Wordspring

by Redrikki



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Bullying, Gen, Mutism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-23
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 19:57:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8115496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redrikki/pseuds/Redrikki
Summary: Anakin’s words dry up in the middle of his fourth month at the Temple. If Obi-Wan can't get them flowing again, maybe someone else will.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I recently learned that, after moving to Michigan and being separated from his mom at age 8, James Earl Jones stopped speaking for a while. I wondered how the Jedi would handle something like that and this fic was born.
> 
> Thanks to [themoosehthm](http://themoosejthm.tumblr.com) for helping me work out the plot.

Anakin’s words dry up in the middle of his fourth month at the Temple. Their disappearance is neither sudden nor dramatic. His words are not vaporized by a blow to the head or some singular traumatic event. They simply evaporate, slowly but inexorably, like a puddle under the twin glares of Tatooine’s suns. Anakin doesn’t even realize it’s happening, not until the morning he wakes up with nothing left to say.

 _Wizard_ is the first to go. Anakin loses it during his second Temple lesson as he watches a pair of younglings play catch with the Force. They wear tiny frowns of concentration as the ball drifts back and forth between them without either having to touch it. 

“Whoa,” Anakin gasps with delight. Qui-Gon Jinn had told him the Force could make him a better pod racer, but he hadn’t said anything about moving stuff with his mind. “That’s so wizard!”

“Wizard,” a boy mimics with a nasty laugh. “Who talks like that?”

Not Jedi apparently, with their crisp, Core-world accents. Only dumb, Outer Rim slaves talk like that. The other younglings giggle and Anakin’s cheeks burn. Nothing about this is wizard any more. The word is gone. Disappeared. Just like magic. 

Over the next few weeks, Anakin sheds words like he’s shaking sand from his cloak. He drops the Huttese curses that make the Masters frown and the folksy Tatooine sayings that make the younglings snicker. After a handful of scoldings and a few more rounds of public humiliation, it’s easier to just not. No one can mock his accent if they never hear it. The Masters can’t say his ideas are wrong if he never shares them. Even the most powerful Jedi can’t take away his memories of mom if he never mentions her. 

The last night Anakin speaks, he wakes gasping from a nightmare of a broke and angry Watto selling his mom to the sleemo who used to lear and grope her in the shop. Trembling, he scrambles off his pallet and seeks out the dubious comfort of Obi-Wan’s bed. His master is hard where mom is soft and smells all wrong, but, if Anakin closes his eyes, he can pretend they’re safe together in her bed. 

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan mumbles, blinking blearily at the boy cuddled against his side. “Wha?”

“Master, please,” Anakin whimpers, clutching at Obi-Wan with all the force of a tractor beam. “My dream,” he struggles to explain. “My mom. _Please._ "Please save her. Please help me. Please make it all right. Tears drip off his nose as he tries to say it all wordlessly through the Force. It feels like he’s screaming into space.

“Ugh,” Obi-Wan groans, flinging his arm across his face. “Don’ wanna hear it.” He rolls out of Anakin’s embrace and tugs his blanket over his head. “Go ‘way. Back to sleep.” And, with that, he promptly takes his own advice.

Anakin crawls off the bed, sniffling and scrubbing the tears from his face. He slips back into his own cold pallet and curls into himself. By the morning, all his words are gone.

****

Obi-Wan could be forgiven for missing it. The morning Anakin stops talking, Obi-Wan wakes as blurry-eyed and congested as if he’d been the one who cried himself to sleep. Despite over four months on Coruscant, Anakin still operates on Tatooine time which means he’s already up and reading his assignments when Obi-Wan finally emerges from his bed to stumble to the fresher. He had explained to his Padawan several times why waking up before the crack of dawn and napping during the heat of the day were not acceptable, but apparently some habits are hard to break. At least he’d stopped dozing off around mid-day.

Freshly washed and a bit more awake, Obi-Wan considers his charge. _Something_ happened last night, but damned if he remembers what. The after effects linger in the Force, but Obi-Wan is going to need a few cups of caf before he can even begin to untangle it. “Breakfast,” he declares and sets off in search of it while Anakin scrambles to catch up.

They walk to the commissary in companionable silence. On the trip from Tatooine, Anakin had struck him as a hyperactive chatterbox, but Temple life seems to have settled him down. Obi-Wan isn’t one of the sort who thinks that padawans should be seen and not heard, but he does appreciate a bit of quiet before his morning caf. He flashes a smile at the boy beside him and is rewarded with one in turn.

They share a pleasantly quiet day of remedial lessons and saber drills. The next day is much the same and the next and the next and the next. Five days later, watching Anakin type out, rather than say, an answer it occurs to Obi-Wan that his padawan hasn’t spoken all day. “Is everything alright?”

Anakin tilts his head with a puzzled frown. His confusion trickles down their training bond.

“You haven’t said a word all day.”

 

Anakin suddenly finds the floor fascinating and begins to squirm under Obi-Wan’s scrutiny. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. That’s a bit concerning. “Are you ill?”

Anakin just shrugs and Obi-Wan pinches the bridge of his nose in an effort to contain his rising annoyance. Why couldn’t the Chosen One have been a nice, normal, Temple-raised youngling? He’s almost certain he could handle one of those. “Anakin,” he sighs, “if something is wrong, you must speak up.”

The boy just shots him a flat look and gestures angrily towards his throat. Right. Obi-Wan supposes it would be difficult to speak up when you can’t talk. “Yes, well…,” he says, and then promptly drags his padawan off to the Halls of Healing for all the good it does.

“What do you _mean_ there’s nothing wrong?” Obi-Wan demands a bit more sharply than he intended. The boy can’t talk. Of course there’s something wrong with him.

Healer Nema purses her lips and pulls up the results of Anakin’s medical scan. “As you can see,” she says like Obi-Wan knows the first thing about reading a medi-scan, “there is nothing wrong with his throat or his vocal chords. No infections. No loose teeth. No recent blows to the head.” She shakes her head and shuts the holoprojector down. “There is no medical reason why your padawan isn’t speaking.”

 

“But you can’t talk,” Obi-Wan rounds on Anakin. The boy shakes his head. He couldn’t even make an ahh noise during his exam. 

“How long has this been going on?” Healer Nema asks.

Obi-Wan is about to tell her since this morning when Anakin holds up five fingers. “Five?! You haven’t spoken in—” Obi-Wan massages his suddenly throbbing temples. His padawan hasn’t said a word in five days and somehow he missed it. He is an absolute failure of a master. Qui-Gon would be so disappointed. Anakin is watching him with some concern so Obi-Wan drops his hands and squares his shoulders. He’s going to get to the bottom of this. He’s going to be a better master and he is going to fix his padawan.

Five days later and nothing has changed except that Obi-Wan is at his wits’ end. Anakin curls his shoulders and sinks into himself as Obi-Wan ushers him into Master Yoda’s sitting room. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the boy is scared of the old master. Yoda is an amazing swordsman, but Obi-Wan can’t imagine any Jedi actually fearing the little green being. Not the one who taught them all as younglings and is always there to offer his wisdom and advice. Obi-Wan could certainly use that advice right now.

The old master hums thoughtfully as Obi-Wan explains the situation. “I’ve tried everything, Master.” He’d tried asking. He’d tried begging. He’d tried bribing Anakin with a chance to pilot a speeder. To his great shame, he’d even ended up yelling for a bit before finally taking away Anakin’s datapad in an ultimately fruitless attempt to force him to talk. None of it had worked.

“Tried everything you have not,” Master Yoda says. He pulls himself from his tuffet and shuffles towards Anakin. The boy twitches like he wants to run but stands his ground as the little master approaches. “One thing left there is.” Master Yoda stretches out his and Obi-Wan has a sudden, horrifying vision of what’s about to happen. “Speak,” Master Yoda backs his command with a healthy dose of the Force.

Anakin shoves Yoda from his mind hard enough to send him flying. The boy looms over the fallen Jedi, his fists clenched, his face contorted with rage. This boy is dangerous. How had he forgotten that? Obi-Wan’s hand drifts towards his saber. Is he really prepared to strike down his own apprentice?

Luckily, the question is moot. The anger on Anakin’s face dissolves into fear. Chest heaving, eyes darting wildly, he stumbles backwards before fleeing the room. Obi-Wan collapses onto a stool as his knees turn to jelly. “Well, that could have gone better,” he quips. He should go after his padawan, but he waits for his heart to stop racing instead.

****

Young Skywalker parries smartly, but is too slow to land the repost. Only his quick return to guard and lightening-fast parry protect him from his opponent’s attack. He falls back rather than take the offensive, but Sidious supposes the move is based on tactics rather than cowardice. All in all, the boy’s skills are impressive considering he’s been training for less than six months.

“Halt,” Kenobi calls from the shadows, ending the bout. “Your parry is too wide. Keep it small and you might actually manage a repost once in a while.” He goes on to critique every aspect of the fight. Some of his points strike Sidious as simple nit-picking, but the boy accepts the criticism without comment. How considerate of Kenobi to train his next apprentice considering what he did to the last one.

“Young Skywalker seems to be coming along well,” Sidious remarks to Master Windu as they stroll along the upper gallery of the training salle. There are other bouts going on, but this is the only one that matters. “I’m so glad he’s found his place here,” Sidious says, probing for a reaction.

He is not disappointed. The Jedi master’s perpetual frown deepens at the mere mention of the boy’s name. “I had grave reservations about accepting Skywalker,” he says.

“Oh?” And yet the Jedi had taken him regardless. It was a shame Windu hadn’t gotten his way. To think, the boy could have already been his. Still, leaving Skywalker in the Jedi’s care did present certain…opportunities.

Windu looks down over the railing to frown some more at the subject of their conversation. “He’s too old, too powerful.” He turns back abruptly, making sure to hold Sidious’s gaze. “The boy is dangerous.”

Is he? How delightful. “But surely he’s just a child,” Sidious dismisses the Jedi’s concerns with a chuckle. Windu’s lip curls with disgust. Yes, the Chancellor is just a silly old man with no concept of the Force. Does the boy know what his Jedi masters think of him? Does he resent it? Sidious hopes so. “He certainly seems to be fitting in, despite your fears.” 

Windu snorts. “Fitting in? The boy doesn’t talk!”

What? Sidious raised an eyebrow, willing him to elaborate.

Thankfully, the man did not disappoint. “For the last month, he has refused to speak to anyone.” 

“Hmmm,” Sidious considered his prize. Down in the salle below, the boy replicates each move as Kenobi demonstrates it. His movements are precise, yet fluid. In a few more years he is going to be an amazing swordsman. “Are you sure he can talk?” Sidious can’t recall hearing him on Naboo. It’s not as though it matters, in terms of his plans, but it would be good to know.

“Oh, he can talk,” Windu growls, actually growls, like the whole situation is a deep, personal affront, “he just wont. Punishment, Force suggestion: nothing works.”

 _Force suggestion!_ Sidious struggles to swallow his laughter. Oh, the Jedi and their overwhelming arrogance. Sometimes it was like they were trying to do his job for him. “Send him to me.” He doesn’t know what could drive a boy to mutism or what he could possibly do about it, but this is too good an opportunity to pass up.

“Excuse me?” Windu says flatly, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. He probably thinks Sidious is a pedophile now. Why else would a middle-aged politician want a mute little boy?

“After what young Anakin did for Naboo, I feel I owe it to him to try to help however I can.” Hand over his heart, Sidious is the very picture of sincerity. Unfortunately, Windu doesn’t seem to be buying it. Sidious drops his hand and the act. “He is a Jedi, is he not? And the Jedi are under the authority of the Senate. And the Chancellor.”

Windu turns away in disgust, but Sidious has won the argument. Not to mention the boy.

Kenobi is clearly not pleased when he brings Skywalker to Sidious’s office. The boy is half-hidden behind him and valiantly trying to blend into the woodwork. “Thank you for bringing him, Knight Kenobi,” he says before either Jedi can get a word in. “You may go.” The young man is so thrown by the dismissal, it takes him a few moment to pull himself together. Skywalker takes a half step towards him as he leaves, then looks back at the desk with obvious trepidation.

“It’s alright, Anakin,” Sidious says with his gentlest smile. “I promise I don’t bite.” He shows the boy his candy dish to lure him in closer and helps himself to one of the sweets to show they’re safe. 

“I’ve known Padmé Amidala since she was little girl,” he says, instantly winning Skywalker’s attention and trust. “She told me what you did for her and asked me to look in on you.” He leans back in his chair as the boys comes around to his side of the desk. “How are you settling in?”

Skywalker’s whole being slumps. Leave it to the Jedi to make a child mute and miserable in just six months. He shrugs and reaches for the candy dish. 

“Oh, dear. That bad?”

The boy shrugs again. He unwraps the candy without making eye contact. 

“Master Windu did mention you no longer talk,” he says. The boy cringes and looks up at him with pleading eyes. “Anakin,” Sidious sighs, “I know I can be a bit intimidating, but I have no intention of _forcing_ you to say anything. You’re free to talk when you are ready or be silent when you’re not.”

Anakin’s eyes widen in shock at the idea that he actually has a choice. He blinks rapidly and swallows hard. Is he going to cry? How delicious. “Thank you,” he whispers.

“My dear boy,” Sidious lays a paternal hand on his shoulder. “You are most welcome.”


End file.
